Archives for September 2017

I remember when I lost my first job. It was due to downsizing. I was frightened, but at the same time I was relieved. I was a good executive assistant, but it wasn’t my passion. It was a job to pay bills and keep a roof over my head in NYC, and baby, that ain’t cheap. I was offered a one month severance package, which included salary for a month, and health care till the end of the year. Don’t get excited. It was December.

Once that was done, I could apply and receive an unemployment check to cover some expenses until I found a new job. I heard somewhere, I think it was from Oprah actually, that one should celebrate when something financially and potentially life decimating happens. I remember Oprah telling the story of some blonde lady who popped open a bottle of expensive champagne to celebrate the loss of her husband’s job, and several months later they got rich or something. I don’t really remember the exact details, but the general idea of that story stayed with me.

I decided to try it, and I sipped on sparkling apple cider.( I know, I know. It’s not champagne, but it’s still celebratory. I just lost my job, cut me some slack people. I’m being responsible here.)

I decided losing my job wasn’t a curse, but an opportunity to follow my heart and try freelancing as a music producer, writer, and photographer; three things I love, and damn it, I know I’m pretty good at. It was time for me to try to actually make a living at it.

I made the mistake of telling my sister, thinking I could confide in her and gain some moral support, but instead, she unleashed a world of judgment on me I didn’t expect. She said, “unemployment is like welfare.” Her point of view was that I should rush out and get another executive assistant job right away.

I was shocked. “What the fuck did she just say to me?”

We argued. I said, “No, unemployment is not like welfare. I’ve paid into this money. I’ve been working since I was 15. I’ve earned this.”

I felt strongly that I had earned the right to choose a different direction for my career. “I’m not married and I don’t have children. If I don’t do it now I may never do it, and I just couldn’t live with that.”

I choose to pause. I just knew this was my fork in the road. One of many to come.

Her judgment wasn’t a new thing. I just didn’t expect it from her. She’s my little sister. Not that she ever looked up to me in the way some little sisters look up to their big sisters. We have a more “Marsha vs Jan Brady” thing going on. (Yea, It’s on Hulu! Enjoy)

But it hurt to have her looking down on me and talking down to …me. She was still in college and had not yet stepped into the real world. The real world of working a corporate job designed to eat tiny bits of your soul until you die of boredom; also known as dying of “natural causes.”

Her judgmental points of view weren’t really even her own. It’s a running theme in my family. You are only valued if you have a job. Being a freelancer doesn’t count. Building your own creative business doesn’t count.

As the black sheep of the family, I took the path less traveled. I stumbled along the way, but I’m not sorry I chose for me. I watched my aunt, who gave everything as an assistant at Lehman Brothers, lose everything. If she hadn’t still lived in my grandparents’ fully paid for house, she would have been homeless. She was luckier than most. Looking at that, I knew, even if I did take the road paved – the “so called” safe and secure road, even if I did everything that my family thought I should do, I could still end up with next to nothing. There are no guarantees in life!

Now, I’m still the girl that wasted all her potential in their eyes.

Never mind that my rent is twice their mortgages and I pay it, and all my bills, on time.

Never mind that I have published articles on super legit media outlets.

Never mind that I have music production credits published in billboard magazine.

Never mind I’ve interviewed Moby, met and hugged Will Smith and Kanye West, been hand fed by top chefs like Tyler Florence and Elizabeth Faulkner.

Never mind that I’ve been interviewed on TV and featured in the NY Times about something I created.

Nothing I do matters. I don’t matter, because I don’t have an “actual job” with an office I go to daily.
When someone loses their job, they are met with sympathy, well wishes, prayers for blessings, and encouraging comments. When I’ve suffered a setback, I receive the “well you chose this life” attitude. No empathy whatsoever.

I’m not bitching. I’m merely pointing out the hypocrisy.

I used to try to get them to see a different point of view. I would remind them that companies like Amazon are built every day, by people like me who step out of the box and create something new, and then grow that into companies that then hire people like them, and how that is actually a good thing for our society. I ask them, “What about the Bill Gates, Mark Zuckerbergs, and Steve Jobs of the world?” They answer, “That’s them. That’s not you!”

My answer, “How the fuck would you know?” Steve Jobs was not “the Steve Jobs” in the minds of those who saw him sleeping illegally on his friends dorm sofa. I admire the fuck out of Steve Jobs, who lived his life on his own terms. And its a good thing too. He died so young, at just 56 years old. Steve did not die with his dreams still inside him. Neither will I.

I’ve learned to live with my family’s judgment, though it isn’t always easy to be an outsider in the one place you are supposed to feel safe and loved in the world. But I don’t regret my choices, because I wouldn’t trade my life for theirs.

I thrive off this sense of adventure and creativity. It is what makes me feel alive. It would be amazing if there weren’t people who really thought their way of life was the only way to live, but hey that’s life right? They have the freedom to judge and I have the freedom to not give a shit as I sip on my champagne that I can now afford… occasionally.

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Jessi Jordan is a dog lover, cat lover, cheeseburger & pizza lover, optimistic multi-potentialite originally from New York City spending her LA days as a Freelance Writer/Photographer/Content Creator waiting to hear from Adele that she is ready to duet with her. She is constantly trying to cure her obsession with run-on sentences.

I’ve been a liberal all my life. I have not been encouraged to be a liberal all my life. I was raised in a conservative family. My father was a Baptist preacher. Everyone around me was conservative. They hated gays. They hated government assistance, even when half of them were on it. They hated pregnant teens, single mothers, and divorced parents. I don’t keep in contact with much of any of them anymore, but I’d bet my last dollar that 99.9% of them voted for Donald Trump. I was a black sheep. I didn’t care. Even as a child, I knew I was different, and I knew I was right.

Even when I wasn’t allowed to have a voice, and even when my views and beliefs were always being compared to those around me, I stuck to my guns. I never faltered. I was never encouraged either. I was hushed. I was frowned upon and preached at in the hopes that I wouldn’t turn into the dirty liberal that I became. I was told how wrong I was. I was lectured. I was pointed at. I was shunned. As I got older, people wouldn’t let their kids hang out with me because of the “way I was.” I needed Jesus, so therefore I didn’t need any friends. I was a disappointment to my father and his congregation. I was an embarrassment. I gave zero fucks.

I knew that I would be different than my parents when it came to raising any children I might have. I would never put them in a position where they had to wonder which side was the right side. I would never make them feel like they were wrong or shameful for showing compassion and understanding. I would never let them feel like an embarrassment to the family. Instead, I would encourage their fire and passion. I wanted to give them the platform that I never had, so they could be loud, proud, and open with what they believed.

I now have a four year old daughter. I’ve strived to raise her as a free-thinking, compassionate individual. We have frequent discussions about loving one another, about treating every human being equally. I encourage her at every opportunity to think for herself; to form her own thoughts and opinions on the things around her. I’ve raised her to be strong-willed and stubborn, and to never back down from something that she believes in, even if that’s caused me to pull my own hair out once or twice.

“There’s never a good time to tell your child that the world is brimming with hate.”

These have always been the normal lessons in my household. It’s simply the path which we chose to raise her on. But on inauguration day, I was forced to stop and really consider what all of this meant. I was left with no choice but to sit down and really decide how I was going to raise this child. What beliefs would I instill in her?

You’re taught that the president deserves the utmost of respect, yet how could I encourage her to respect and revere someone that stood for the exact opposite of what I’ve been trying to teach her these last four years? How could I possibly tell her that while SHE should ALWAYS love and respect all of her fellow humans, our president was somehow exempt from this rule?

Now, more than ever, it was crucial that I pushed that strong will; that I encouraged that hardheadedness and unwillingness to back down. It was now that I had to teach her that sometimes, power does not always equate respect. That even when the world is stacked against you, you stand for what is right, and you stand against anyone that is trying to take that from you—even if that person is the president of the United States.

That’s a hard pill to swallow. That’s a difficult lesson to teach your child. You want your kids to play in the dirt. You want them to learn their ABC’s and their shapes and colors. You want their biggest worry to be keeping their bedroom clean so they can have a friend over Friday night. But the world doesn’t allow that.

There’s never a good time to tell your child that the world is brimming with hate. There’s never a good time to explain to them that people are being shot because of the color of their skin, to tell them that grown ass adults are holding Nazi rallies, or even what a fucking Nazi is. There’s never a good time, but now is the right time. Now is the right time more than ever before. Now— right now, while everything is in a complete and utter shitstorm. Now is when we teach them.

So I teach her. Even when it breaks my heart, and my words leave a bad taste in my mouth, I teach her. I tell her what’s happening in the news. I tell her that hateful people are rallying against those that are different than them and we don’t know why. I tell her that people of color are facing violence everyday of their lives, because people think that a different skin tone means a lesser quality of human being. I tell her that our friends are facing oppression because of who they love.

I tell her that hurricanes and natural disasters are wracking our country and our world, because people don’t care enough to take care of the Earth. I tell her about the effects of global warming and I tell her about all of the people that are suffering tremendous loss because the human race is too lazy to take care of its own fucking trash.

I take her to Wal-Mart and have her pick out things to send to Hurricane Harvey victims in Texas. I tell her why. I tell her that they’re without a home, and their clothes and toys are gone now. I make her understand, and I instill a desire to help. I take her to marches and fundraisers. I let her see a bit of the ugliness, and I teach her.

I teach her because she is our future. I teach her because it is up to her to try to make this world a better place to be, to stand against the oppression and the bigotry, and use her privilege for the betterment of human kind. It’s up to her to accept nothing less than equality and basic human rights for everyone. It’s up to her to march and fight, and kick and scream, and never back down. I teach her because my child, her generation, will be the ones tearing down the fucking walls.

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Andrea is a freelance writer based out of Kentucky. She is the mother to a 3 year old little girl and step-mother to a 6 year old boy. She’s been married to her husband and best friend for 5 years. She enjoys fishing, camping, hiking and the occasional glass of wine by a bonfire.

Hi, I’m Izzy, and a back injury put me out of commission for about a year and a half. Over my entire 24th year of life, I didn’t fuck, didn’t even think about fucking, and maybe went on two first dates; both that went nowhere. I was mostly just in pain and tired.

While my back still isn’t 100%, I’ve definitely gotten back in the game over the past few months. And as a polyamorous pansexual with an internet connection, who is just looking to meet people and have a good time, the sky is the fucking limit.

By polyamorous, I mean that I am capable of being romantically and/or sexually attracted to more than one person at a time. I would say that more people are this way than not, which is why 30%-60% of married individuals are statistically expected to cheat on their spouses, and definitely a part of why over half of marriages end in divorce. We’re animals. What we want and need changes all the time as we grow and gain new experiences. We’re horny AF. It’s nbd.

I mean, it is a big deal, because a big pillar of society is that if you don’t only fuck one person of the opposite gender until you die, and love it, you’re a bad person, and that’s still haunting a lot of people, but it ain’t haunting me. No chains of heterosexual monogamy rattling on my porch in the wee hours. No, sir.

And by pansexual, I mean sex, gender, and gender identity don’t define for me who I should be attracted to and who I shouldn’t. While, I of course notice these things, a thought like “Wow, she’s a woman so I can’t be attracted to her” is just not a part of my thought process. I have experienced within queer spaces, that some queer people are suspicious of trans, gender non conforming, or bi and pansexual people like me, sort of on principal. They don’t want to fuck us or really even respect us. They think we’re shady or playing some kind of game. For me however, thoughts like, “They are trans so I shouldn’t be into them” or “I can’t date this bisexual person because they identify as bisexual” aren’t really how I think.

“I think the most important part of dating is finding out what doesn’t work for you, regardless of your sexual orientation. And this can be a super shitty process. “

Unless you are also polyamorous and pansexual, you probably read those last few paragraphs as me buttering you up to let you in on my non-stop pornography grade bacchanalian sex fest, a la Tinder. You probably think I’m guest versing in threesomes for straight couples left and right, shouting “Mr Worldwide” like some kinda lubed up Pitbull. You’re probably thinking I moonlight as a pair of left handed scissors and daylight as a ball rest for a wealthy older gentleman.

For the record, I don’t really. I think Tinder and Bumble have been as kind and unkind to me as anyone else. We’re talking the Led Zeppelin song “Good Times, Bad Times” or maybe even “Dazed and Confused,” and not all the other ones about wreckless good old fuckin.

Straight and gay men and women always tell me they wish they could be like me, because it must be so easy to be ok with getting fucked by anybody and as many at a time as possible.

I’m not actually a walking perpetual gangbang machine, you guys.

Just because sex and gender don’t define my attraction, and I don’t think enforced monogamy works, doesn’t mean that literally nothing matters to me when it comes to who I date or fuck, or that I’m building a harem. Let me tell you, I have been on enough bad dates with all sorts of people (like, will go in my future stand up special bad) to know that there are a lot of things that don’t work for me. Tbh, I think the most important part of dating is finding out what doesn’t work for you, regardless of your sexual orientation. And this can be a super shitty process.

Over July-August I have met five men off Bumble and Tinder. One of them was incredible. One I thought was incredible, but turned out to be a dick. One is a dick, but he’s very open about it, and I respect that. One was haplessly immature in a way so common, that if you’re a millennial, you know at least 18 dudes just like that. And one I only hung out with for about 40 minutes, before he ran out of my house crying because he was having performance anxiety.

Definitely a mixed bag, am I right? We’re talking two different countries and an age range of 22-40.

If I were a man writing this, that would definitely be read as a brag. Since I’m a biological female writing this, the intent is less clear. Do I want to shock you? To disgust you? To tantalize? To make you feel concern? Or envy?

If it helps, I’m just tryna tell you some shit I seen. You can sort out however you want to feel about it on your own time. I’m not responsible for that. I’m just one human being that spent over a year in a sexless marriage with my TENS unit, who’s tryna have a good time and figure out what I like and what I don’t.

As someone who has been socialized as a woman, I feel like I’m doing something really important for me right now. Many women grew up reading magazines which told us how important it was to get bae, and keep bae, and be all you can be for bae, but no one ever really asked us what kinda things we wanted in bae. We’re told that if you aren’t hot or thin or white or whatever enough, you have to be grateful for whatever bae you get. If any man pays any kind of attention to you, hold onto him and never let go, because that’s all there is for you. And if anything goes wrong it’s your fault.

And that’s just not real.

Over this month I have learned so much about myself and what I like and what I don’t, that I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Even that one time where that guy I barely knew ran out of my house crying. Shit happens. If an ex-performer turned real estate agent in his late 30s cancels on you last minute, because he’s having issues with his divorce, don’t make it about you, man.

Just keep swiping.

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Isadora Teich is a freelance writer and traveler. They’ve written social media copy, tabloids, news, erotica, opinion pieces, quizzes, have worked on film scripts, and do some ghostwriting from time to time. Isadora lives for artistic experimentation and is working on a novel.